Birds of a Feather - Law's Collections 5
by Harmonica Smile
Summary: Law had too many exes, but it wasn't like Marco was a blushing virgin when they'd got together. Then again, Law's exes were still in his life, and damn but they cared for him. Law/Marco. Tashigi and Smoker from second chapter. Past SmoLaw. Canon divergent. Rated M for themes, but no smut in this one. Law-centric.
1. Chapter 1 - Remiges - Marco

**A/N** : This is part of a series supplementary to the long fic, _Repossession_ ( **not** a K-T rating). This one can be read alone. Please note: More A/N at the end of the fic.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Remiges**

* * *

Marco drew Law to him, his kisses as soft and hidden as the symbols Law sewed into the hems, neck and wrist lines of the black Nehru shirts he wore. Intended only for his partner's discovery. The Phoenix loved the small grunt of pleasure and surprise, the almost instant opening of Law's lips, before he attempted to pull away, the brush of his goatee against his own few bristles. They had a wedding to go to and Marco knew Law would be pissed off if he went with stubble rash. The Heart captain was best man, after all.

The ensigns were embroidered into the cloth and only those who knew about them knew about them. Marco's palms ran up Law's sides under the tunic, the cotton soft against the back of his hands.

"Don't." Law spoke quietly and pushed him away slightly, though not forcefully, and he tipped his head against Marco's own. Law was warm. The feel of each rib, of conjoined tendons and muscles, the contours of flesh and bone was an enticing reminder that the doctor had invited him into his world. Allowed him access.

The shirt flowed about Law, by design and from wear, but was formal enough for Smoker's wedding. A tendril of tattoo breached the slight v-collar. Once everything had gained even keel between Law and Marco, the tunics the surgeon whipped up were less hair-shirt, less Victorian, and more likely to reveal tantalising hints of bits of him he didn't mind others seeing. Law didn't find them tantalising. If others got something out of it, then let them.

Marco dropped a hand from Law's chest and ran his forefinger and thumb like a sliding weight along the hem of the shirt, pausing whenever he felt the familiar areas where the cloth was raised, as if the material itself was in relief to the tiny hidden designs. By touch alone he knew what they were now, but had only learnt that information after lying by Law's side one time, and examining each and every one of them stitched into this particular outfit. Or, more correctly, he'd studied those nearest him, considering Law had been ensconced in the shirt at the time.

It intrigued him. He hadn't even guessed at how many motifs Law had stitched into the cloth. Law and Marco had been kicking back in their room, on a lazy evening after a busy day. They hadn't showered or dressed for bed, they hadn't even had dinner. Law ignored Marco while he fiddled with the border of his clothes. A tattooed hand landed on that blond clump of hair occasionally to let him know he hadn't been forgotten.

Law retained some habits from being with Luffy. Marco was nowhere near as demanding, nor as ADHD riddled. Quite the opposite. He made Zoro look like the energiser bunny. But, reading glasses on, immersed in a book, pen at the ready for notes, Law hadn't wanted to be distracted, so he appeased any calls for attention by providing the basics without being asked.

He had no clue whether Marco liked having his hair petted while they were just hanging out, but he'd never complained. Law didn't really know what Marco was currently doing, but it seemed to have something to do with his outfit, the one he was wearing. As long as he could continue reading, then there was no harm in his curiosity.

Except he had _had_ to remove his top. It was easier to give in. Law chose his battles. However, he'd been ordered to strip far too often when he'd been owned by Doflamingo – that's when the sadistic freak let him wear clothes – so he didn't take kindly to any requests to strip when he wasn't in the mood to bare flesh.

He knew it wasn't a hardship for Marco to see him shirtless, and Law grumbled, but knew the Phoenix meant no harm, and he didn't seem to be in a particularly amorous frame of mind. So he closed the book, removed his glasses, rucked the cloth from behind and pulled it over his head. That was quite the effort for downtime.

Marco took it with thanks, and crawled up the bed to lie beside Law. He marvelled at the intricate patterns his partner had worked into the material. He paid no attention to the sinfully lush body beside him. Law didn't mind.

Suturing wounds, extracting bone from flesh, realigning limbs to knit and mend correctly – Law's skill with the needle wasn't such a stretch of the imagination when you considered his profession.

Before he'd started making these shirts, plain to the casual eye, he'd always included one of his many motifs into the clothes he wore, but they'd been noticeable. A stark white against black, yellow defying the monochromatic shades he preferred, sometimes even a bit of red stitching around buttonholes or sewn around a pocket, like the warning strip of a spider huddled in her corner. For a man who preferred to fly under the radar he had quite the knack for drawing attention.

* * *

Things had been good for a number of years now. Marco was happy, and grateful, but never took their relationship for granted. After the Kid assault, things had got worse before they'd improved. Law's life ran the gamut from terrible, to seeming to cope, to not coping at all, to Marco fucking everything up royally. From that confused mess, Law found his feet and blew through all the shit whirling around and within him to land squarely on his feet.

He'd had every right and reason to just keep on shooting through the sky though, leaving his Whitebeard partner of some time behind, but once he'd made up his mind, he dared to extend his hand again. The Phoenix hadn't hesitated to grip death between his fingers - he doubted he'd ever get another chance - and they'd set out again.

Inspecting the tunic on a mattress that recalled the way he and Law slept, it wasn't like Marco had no knowledge of the embroidered symbols. They'd been together long enough that he knew the habits and likes of the surgeon. The black on black had been a new style, though, and it was harder to distinguish the designs.

On that laidback evening, he'd pulled the Nehru tunic near for closer examinatin, and Law had put his book to the side for the moment, and snuggled behind him, watching him and his reactions from over his shoulder. He then dipped his head, and pressed a lazy kiss against the few freckles and moles gathered near the Whitebeard's shoulder-blade. He closed his eyes and waited.

Marco adjusted when Law's arm had slipped under him and the other around him. He adapted his body to the other man's as Law hooked a knee over and between his legs, as if he were a cushion the younger man needed for comfort. Marco was used to it. When things were fine between them, his lover was tactile. The Phoenix enjoyed it.

An embroidered heart led the symbols - not bigger than half a centimetre. The texture below the tips of his fingers was incidental but pleasant, almost like the clanking of the worry beads his mother had constantly passed between her hands. A similar kind of motion, of comfort from repetitive touch.

A coloured-in cross, the symbol the Heart pirate flashed on the back of his hands, followed the first design. The cross had been blocked in to hide Doflamingo's past damage and ownership. Law hadn't gained that marking by choice. Marco wondered at him including it.

The amoeba sun-like figure from his forearms, and the more aggressive Jolly Roger were all embroidered in. Cora's smile promised to rupture more than a good mood, though it looked as if he'd have a great time doing it. Marco thought the one on Law's back looked gleeful but not quite sane, or had, before Kizaru's lashes.

Swirls and curls interspersed the more recognisable images. They encapsulated and protected the whole. Why the doctor didn't stitch them in a noticeable colour he didn't know.

And then. He drew the cloth in and then out again to get a clearer view. And then, what the fuck was that? Oh Christ, how hadn't he noticed it before? The tips of his fingers trailed the cotton. Tail feathers were sewn into the hem on one section of the side seam as if they had spilt onto that part of the tunic by accident. The feathers twisted and entwined, much like the curlicues of the heart emblem, acting as a rudder, as fluid representation of mobility and balance, as they stretched up the seam.

Not massive, nor tiny, the image was virtually camouflaged, it blended so well with the overall material and colour. The plumage of the bird's breast rose along the joined material. Outstretched wings – taking to the sky – were sewn into the front and back panels of the shirt.

Marco pulled the material in closer yet. And, yes, near to where Law's arm would naturally fall when relaxed, hiding the image from detection, a primary feather or two was stitched in blue. The only goddamn colour on the whole shirt.

Marco didn't doubt Law's love, but it wasn't loud. The Whitebeard commander wasn't about chest-beating-declarations either, but he'd always known where he'd stood with Ace, good and bad. Memories of Ace were valued, and prime among them was his ready use of endearments, his effusive claims of forever after. Marco smiled.

The last time Law ever felt any relief or sense of belonging as a child had been upon hearing bold words of love from a dying man to the boy he was saving. And there had been only one man.

Deeply jaded, he'd believed these adult words of survival, had to believe them, and also believed the expression of affection. Even as Cora's first words proved to be false, Law never gave up on the second, although he was well aware that love was something that could be taken away, maybe would be taken away, and he'd never been sure why the man had cared for him. Was it because of the Will of D? Sengoku hadn't thought so.

Law's emotions ran deep, and he was loyal, but words of devotion weren't commonplace. He spoke them at times, always when appropriate and needed, but sometimes Marco wanted to hear them just a little more. He drew in a breath and Law's arms tightened. He was still there. The Whitebeard pirate had almost forgotten.

"You sewed a phoenix."

"Mmm."

"It's blue."

"Only five feathers."

"Why?"

Marco felt the shrug of shoulders behind him.

"Looked good."

Law kissed the spot on Marco's back again. Yawned. He was about to fall asleep, but they had to get the dinner on.

"Feathers are made of keratin. Like our hair, our nails." His words were groggy.

Marco placed the tunic on the pillow beside him, trying his best not to scrunch it. Then again, when they got hot and bothered, they didn't care too much about their clothes, so he didn't know why he was worried now. He brought Law's curled hand from his chest to his lips, blew into the rounded digits, and pressed his own fingers over the nail stubs.

Law hummed into his back. He sighed against his skin. Happy. Or if not quite that pinnacle, content.

Marco wasn't sure of the exact correlation.

"So?"

"They renew. Nails. Feathers. Phoenix flames."

Except if they'd been burnt off.

Marco felt Law's lips move against his own flesh.

"He couldn't stop me from being a doctor. Kizaru. He didn't damage my fingers so badly I can't operate. He couldn't make me forget Corazon or my crew by slicing up my back. Our troubles didn't stop us from finding a solution."

Law liked the feel of his many deformities being caressed, of being acknowledged as part of him, not the whole of him.

"I might be keratin deficient. Marked. But I can draw from those around me, from different sources."

"From your own self."

Marco held Law's hand with both of his now, his thumb still pressing against Law's thumbnail, his calloused skin running over his tattoo.

"Being fucked-up sometimes only runs skin deep. Sometimes they only succeed in fucking you up that far."

In the end.

Law's love could be hard to find. There were hints, suggestions, if he thought you were interested, if he was interested, located somewhere in chests buried in the ocean sand. But for Marco, the key had always rested in the creases of his unfurled hand. Sometimes the Phoenix just couldn't see for looking.

* * *

 **A/N:** This story follows on from and reflects back to the long fic, _Repossession_ ( _ **not a K-T rating**_ ) _._ At the end of that fic, Marco and Law are partners, and Marco has helped Law through some pretty horrific situations.

Luffy is now the Pirate King and Zoro is his faithful partner. Law and Luffy were a couple for two years. All characters live in a kind of One Piece AU on a series of islands a ferry ride away from one another. The World Government is a lot less corrupt than it used to be.

In this AU, Law is in his thirties.

 **Thank you** for reading.

* * *

 **Note: Dec 8, 2018** : The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


	2. Chapter 2 - Barbs and Barbules - Smoker

**A/N** : Some gore in this chapter. Not too explicit compared to some. Skip if it's not your thing.

* * *

 **Barbs and Barbules**

* * *

Law had too many exes, but it wasn't like Marco was a blushing virgin when they'd got together. Then again, Law's exes were still in his life, and damn but they cared for him.

He appreciated that Law had given him another chance in the year _annus horribilis_. Law would never forgive him, and he didn't seek it out. However, his dark-haired lover _had_ divested from the hurt Marco had caused, and all that came with it. The Whitebeard commander was grateful.

They only spoke of it when necessary. They'd done the pain, the purpose, the push and pull each had for the other in an intense eighteen months with individual shrinks – hardboiled folk with a streak of the right kind of concern, recommended by Chopper, who knew everyone. That had been tough, but they listened and tried to use the coping mechanisms they learnt. They kept the counsellors in reserve, even now, and if that didn't work, there was always a night out with Shanks and Benn.

Law had beaten the shit out of him too. Just once. It was fully deserved and before the therapists. He hadn't defended himself, though he'd used haki to prevent serious injury. Law had also beaten the shit out of his nightmares, or at least whipped them into a manageable state, improving their lives thousand-fold. The Heart captain had moved in with Robin for six months at the height of the trouble between them. Things were tense. But it was long past now.

It wasn't that Law _never_ diverted from a decision, a plan, once made, but a lot of thought went into those plans and decisions, so the chances of him changing them were slim. He'd decided to remain with Marco. The Phoenix doubted he could have changed his mind if he'd decided against him.

Ace was honoured between them. Law did nothing to disgrace the second commander's memory – a man who had gone far too early, in the worst possible circumstances; Marco standing helplessly by, despite his efforts, and he had fought _hard_ to protect and free Ace. Law understood and accepted the low-lying sorrow and guilt that never went away. Knew it well. Supporting him when he needed it and leaving him alone when required. Marco more than returned the favour.

But Law had had a right to be angry – with Marco, not Ace. Had a right still. The Phoenix had crossed boundaries with Law that he'd always maintained with Ace. Stress had ushered in that lapse in judgement, but the stress the blond had been feeling was a drop in the ocean compared to what he created for his partner, who had hardly been holding it together after an assault. Marco's actions had more than compounded that injury.

Self-preservation, understandable and _wise_ self-preservation, almost saw them split up when they were entering their sixth year together. Law's sense of self-preservation that was, and thank God he had it. It certainly made Marco reassess himself. But they saw it through. Marco worked his guts out to see it through, Law too, but Marco knew his actions had Law questioning himself and Marco to the root of his being.

Why could he be respectful of Ace but not Law? That was the question that had eaten away at the Heart captain. That question never existed before Marco had blurred the boundaries of consent, sleeping with Law when he was at his most vulnerable and disoriented – coming out of a nightmare, and those nightmares were nearly always about the _too many times to remember_ Doflamingo and others had used him. When Law was in that state, consent was easily given, but out of ingrained fear and conditioning, not from awareness or a sense of safety. Marco had known him long enough. He couldn't beg ignorance.

Ace was vulnerable too, with his narcolepsy, but Marco had never taken advantage. Waited things out if it struck at inopportune times. He'd had enough control even if he'd had to count to a thousand, and he'd had to at times. All he could say was that Ace's demons wore a different colour and, tragic as it was, he'd been with him a few years compared to the many he'd spent with the Heart captain. That guy's nightmares were a whole other kettle of fish, and completely draining, for both Law, and whoever slept beside him. Both of them knew it.

With his background, Law knew only too well how a lover could turn, out of a sense of ownership and entitlement, and had hoped he'd never see the day when the person he loved the most became a person he no longer understood - who didn't seem to understand him - except at a level he didn't want to contemplate. He didn't fear Marco, but he did fear being relegated to the scrap heap. He'd landed there before, and fought his way out, but he wouldn't succumb to views that he was less than human and could be treated accordingly.

They were steady now, though, and Ace couldn't breathe down Law's neck – about Luffy or Marco – in the way that Smoker, Penguin and sometimes Luffy did to him. Hell, even Robin and Chopper got on his case, and they were just friends.

Though, truth be told, they both knew that Marco wouldn't be with Law if Ace was still alive, but there were a thousand ways of loving. The Heart pirate wasn't second-best. Marco wouldn't be without him, _except_ if Ace had lived. As for Law, when he found love he held on. After all, Cora had found him after he'd lost everyone. The tall, clumsy man never replaced his parents, but he became his all.

Vista and Izou had Marco's back, but Law's protectors had witnessed Doflamingo's handiwork, sometimes firsthand, and though the younger man could usually take care of himself, he engendered a fierce loyalty in those who'd seen him at the times he could not. He'd helped them too. Defeated them on occasion. That was definitely the case for Smoker.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"My pirate got into any trouble lately?"

 _His pirate_? Marco tipped his seat back, hooded eyes alight with humour. He adjusted his cravat slightly, sipped on a beer. The bar was well-stocked.

"He's your best man. Shouldn't you know?"

"He's slippery," Smoker grumbled, a fog of cigar around him. "Can't pin him down. Though he didn't lose the rings." Smoker twisted the wedding band on his finger now, not used to it.

"Not when you're wearing a marine uniform."

As if Law would lose the rings.

Smoker coloured a little thinking of the times he actually had pinned Law down – consensually. And at times of arrest. He was pretty sure the uniform had come into play in either case. Years ago now. And now here he was standing as his right hand man. Why hadn't he asked Kuzan? The only history they shared was a lost poker game or two, a brawl, and drinking until sunrise.

The amber ale warmed Marco. He ran an eye over Smoker, so uncomfortable in that suit – Law had been wise not to wear one. Now that Marco thought about it, Ace had a thing for Smoker too. Marco would always be thankful to the now admiral for ensuring Law's escape from that marine facility, but he wasn't sure what his two fragile lovers saw in the then captain and commodore.

He scraped the back of his head with his blunt nails. Fragile. Were they? They often emerged raging from a tempest of their own making, scratching, clawing and snarling – but life had also dealt them both a really rotten hand.

Ace had talked about Garp's fist of love, and Marco had scoffed at Akainu's adherence to Absolute Justice - or he would have, if it hadn't been so dangerous, but Smoker's outlook was altogether less dualistic, not that you'd know it on the surface. When Smoker was younger – and he was ten years older than Law, and even more senior to Ace – he'd despised them, his pirate lovers, hated the weakness he perceived in himself for being with them, but protected them in a roundabout way all the same.

None of them knew to name the attraction they had for the other as good and worthy. None of them admitted to wanting the attention of the other. In theory, the pirates were below Smoker. Scum. Acknowledgment was dangerous. He'd loved them at different times. Law was always more pragmatic, Ace open, but all players felt something that delineated them as human, decent in some regard, even if they couldn't see it and wouldn't define it. Chase had been as conflicted over his penchant for vermin as they were over surviving.

Ace had less awareness. Law grew into his, especially after Luffy, though Penguin had set him on the right track. But he'd learnt at an early age that appearances were skin deep and learnt to value and know those he could rely on, even if they were the enemy. Even then, he knew they could be taken in a blink of an eye, so he loved, with the ability he had, those he did love. He hadn't known to call it that with Smoker at the time, and Smoker hadn't told him until long after their occasional trysts were a thing of the past.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

He didn't really start caring until he'd found him curled up among the brooms and cleaning products, in the corner of the back porch of the hut they put aside for higher officers in the town, just outside of the base. Dusk was stealing the remaining light. Law always used the back entrance, and knew it was Smoker's preferred way to go into his house.

Head down, that cap pulled low, and nodachi close, what was he doing there where he could so easily be discovered, even if tucked into a corner? Smoker kicked at his feet where he remained scrunched over, hard enough to jar him. A bottle of bleach toppled over.

Law's response - a sound thick with anger – was underpinned with what? Pain?

The pirate looked up. In the fading light Smoker thought Law's eyes had turned red with rage. He didn't know the full extent or effects of his fruit ability, so it could be a possibility. Law had a weird-arse eye colour anyway. But then the marine noticed it wasn't his eyes that were red, but his skin, his hands, where he kept wiping at the thin lacerations that crisscrossed not only his face, but his neck and what he could see of any exposed flesh. The lines cross-hatched older faded scars that covered Law's body.

The pirate wiped a less than steady hand across his brow to prevent blood from dripping into his face, but considering his palm was cut up as well, it only added to the mess that was already staining his hat. His scalp too?

Smoker's eyes dropped to Law's jeans, and he realised the darkening patches he saw on them had nothing to do with leopard print. Fuck. The kid was bleeding and leaking like a faucet.

"Crap, Law. Why aren't you using ope ope to fix yourself?"

The pirate's breath shuddered as he jutted out his right wrist, also dripping with blood, a kairoseki cuff clamped around it. He was calm, considering the predicament he was in, but Smoker could still feel anger from him.

"What in fuck's name am I meant to do with you with that on?"

Law shrugged, dropped his head. He hoped Smoker thought of something soon. If the cuff was removed, he could heal himself. There was still time. Pink feathers swept across his vision, disappeared as quickly. Blood loss was affecting his focus.

Smoker nudged at Law's body with his steel-capped boot, softer than before. He blew out a disgruntled breath, and walked away to unlock his back door. Once inside, he threw on the lights, strode into the sitting room, and pulled the curtains so the outside world could not see in. He returned to the pathetic excuse of a human huddled on his verandah.

"Give me your sword."

Law didn't lift his head. He released his hand as Smoker clasped Kikoku. The marine felt a weird, malevolent buzz.

"Keep _that_ arm well away from me."

Law nodded dumbly. "Push up, Law, if you can. I'll take it from there."

Law leant back into the wall. His hands slipped at first and he winced as he pushed down and tried to lever himself upwards. He wiped them on his jeans, then gained enough momentum to gain traction and kneel. Smoker was a big man. He placed Kikoku against a wall, and walked behind him. "Put one leg forward, kid, if you can. Put some weight on it." Law was tall. Taller than him. He weighed less, but the logistics of getting him off the floor weren't easy.

Law did as he was told. Smoker slipped his arms under Law's armpits and urged him to push his leg down in order to heave himself up as Smoker pulled. Law grunted as he was raised to his feet, and the commodore knew that was some recital of agony. He wasn't fooled. He had yet to meet a pirate, or a marine for that matter, who was a stranger to pain. Law might complain during their fast and furious fucking, and he gave as good as he got, but he took it all with a burning resentment that Smoker didn't think wise to abate.

Law leant heavily against the older man, breath strained, his hat and a few strands of dark matted hair brushing Smoker's grey crop as they entered the house. Smoker propped him against a wall, like his sword, hoping he wouldn't blemish the paint too badly.

"Don't slide down."

Law blinked to show he understood, and put all his willpower into staying upright.

The marine grabbed Kikoku and placed her on the other side of the room, well away from the newest shichibukai, and placed newspaper over the couch so Law wouldn't soil the upholstery. Smoker had quipped in the past that Law's very being in his house was enough to devalue his furniture – the younger man's laugh had been bitter – but this was a true material threat, as opposed to one steeped in prejudice and lowlife desire.

He pulled the Heart captain off the wall and to the couch. He collapsed onto it, the paper rustling. Why didn't he talk?

"Cat got your tongue?"

Law's eyes flashed, and he looked around for something he could unpick the lock with, if his other hand could bear to be so close to the poisonous substance, and if the blood dripping freely didn't loosen it from his hands. He felt his throat constrict. Psychosomatic, he told himself. Fu-fuck- _fuffufufu_ -fucking psychopath. He eyed the trail of red spots he'd left across the floor.

A sharp rap on the front door cut through the house.

Smoker shot Law a look, a command, to be silent. As if he had to be told. He swallowed blood. The marine switched off the light and closed the door. Law, turning options and solutions over and over in his head, looked at his unfettered hand resting on his lap in the quiet and dark.

"Tashigi."

"I brought you some . . ."

"Good, good," said Smoker, taking the dish or cake or whatever it was that Tashigi had decided to share with him. "Come in. I've got a job for you."

His subordinate often visited to take his jackets for cleaning or to discuss a campaign, but always by appointment. Being invited in was new.

"One of the shichibukai's in trouble. You need to help him."

Tashigi pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Shichi… but you hate them."

Except if one happened to have his lips wrapped around his dick, Law thought from his miserable perch on the lounge. He was sure he was bleeding out. He continually wiped his hand on his jeans, the smears covering the denim.

"You're right. I should let the fucker die, but as our allies, I can't let that happen. You need to remove a seastone cuff."

Tashigi frowned. "Die?"

Smoker leaned past her and pulled her into the house, closing the door behind her. He ushered her to the lounge, opening the door and switching on the light. He placed the container on a counter.

Tashigi recognised that hat. His back was to her, but she recognised Trafalgar Law. She walked to the front and yes, there he was, head down, seemingly sitting in a puddle of blood. As a fruit user, seastone drained him, and Smoker couldn't touch the cuff easily.

"You want me to help _that_?"

Law didn't fancy his chances. He felt his temperature drop.

"So he can help himself."

"A pirate is a pirate."

"That's true, but I don't want his death on my hands in this way."

Thank God for Chase's ever-conflicted morals, Law thought. His own code of justice. He'd keep him alive only to take him out some other day, some other way.

"What's to prevent him from slicing us up once he's got his powers back?"

Smoker snarled and shrugged. He didn't like his orders being questioned. "He's a shichibukai for a reason, and he'll use all his goddamned energy healing. Useless fucking power."

Law knew he was right about the energy depletion.

Tashigi sighed. She was a subordinate. She loosened a bobby pin from her hair and fetched a towel from Smoker's kitchen, wrapping it around Law's bleeding arm to give her grip, and to prevent the blood from discolouring her clothes. She noted the slight twitch.

"Why aren't you speaking, pirate? Can't talk for yourself?" Tashigi asked. "Too proud?"

Law just glared. She clicked her tongue. But then lost herself in trying to loosen the lock. Let him be surly. Ingrate. At least he'd owe them something.

As Tashigi worked on the cuff, Smoker zeroed in on Law. Why _wasn't_ he talking? It was a good question. Law used his good hand to wipe across his face and lips, and as he swallowed, he coughed, as if something unpleasant was blocking his wind pipe. The crimson increased, and the pirate's lips contorted like a clown's. _Sweetmotherofgod_. He was bleeding from the sides of his mouth. Smoker approached the couch. Fear and shock tinged the borders of Law's gaze.

He pried Law's lips open with a thick thumb and forefinger, not asking permission. He'd done that before – a lot less gently – in the throes of the brutality they sought from each other and called sex.

The brat didn't have the strength to resist. His teeth were scarlet. He raised Law's upper lip, as if inspecting a dog's mouth for a sound pair of choppers, creating a false sneer to match the one Law usually wore. The Heart captain tried to pull his head away, but was at a disadvantage here. Could he even see with the fluid slipping down his face? His gums were cut up from here to hell and back.

"Open," Smoker instructed, "Teeth." Law did so, slowly, as if the actuality of whatever had happened was catching up with him, or it hurt – a lot. With straggly bits of hair just visible under his hat, he was like a scrawny baby bird squawking for food.

Eyes shattered and unsure, Law tried to read Smoker's expression. The pirate's tongue was lacerated. In one piece, but mangled and bleeding – like a piece of tenderised steak - scored to absorb the best of a marinade.

"Oh fuck, Law."

Tashigi looked up for a second, and almost dropped the pin. Law blinked. Smoker withdrew his fingers and the pirate snapped his lips shut. The blood wouldn't stop. The marine noted goose pimples covering what he could see of the marked skin.

"How and why did you get into something with Doflamingo?" he growled.

He didn't know the half of it, Law thought. He surely didn't expect him to speak. The room was fading in and out. He was having trouble keeping on top of things, not panicking. Smoker watched the hand Tashigi wasn't working on fold and unfold. An entreaty? Or maybe he was trying to maintain circulation so he wouldn't pass out before he could fix himself. Smoker could barely see his tatts. Law was surprised to see concern cross the other man's face, before it turned into its usual scowl.

"Hurry up, Tashigi." Smoker started to pace. "Damn shichibukai scum." And neither she nor Law knew which of the seven warlords he had in mind.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Did you get too mouthy, brat?"

Law lay with Smoker. Healed. It had been exhausting. But he guessed he owed Smoker something – something his skills and training could give to the older man, but right now, memories - of feathers and strings too close to his being from when Doflamingo had owned him - boxed him into a corner. Their paths had rarely crossed since his escape, and Law actively avoided him, naturally enough. Today hadn't been his lucky day.

"You've got to choose your battles, kid," and Smoker placed a big hand on Law's now blemish-free neck. He stroked it. Law inhaled in surprise. He'd been expecting him to curl his fingers around and to press down, letting the pirate know just what he was. Filth. Scum. Whatever they wanted to hurl at him.

Smoker pushed his face into the nape of Law's neck and could smell the fear, still, amongst the ire. He inhaled, pulled back, and ran his fingers lightly over the older scars.

Law must have encountered Doflamingo before. Why hadn't he connected the two before? Though now healed, the new wounds had matched the old ones cobwebbed all over his body. He wondered at the bubbled skin near his hip. What had been removed? A brand? An unwanted tattoo?

"You know the heavenly demon."

Were they working together? Had Law done something to displease the king of Dressrosa? The Heart captain made no move to deny Smoker's words.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Tashigi kept quiet about her captain's predilection for the dregs of society. Were pirates even citizens? The so-called Heart captain didn't even have a sword of merit, though it definitely had spirit.

Then again, she didn't really know what was going on. The minute she'd managed to unfasten the cuff, Law formed a Room, almost wordlessly, and set to work healing. Mouth and tongue first, so he didn't choke on his own blood, then his hands so he could maintain the room, then the rest of him.

The captain had been right. If they could have arrested a shichibukai, they would have, right then and there. It would have been the perfect time to do so, but it was outside of their jurisdiction. Law hadn't done anything obvious since he'd become a shichibukai to have the government revoke the title. Yet. It was only a matter of time.

Once the Room was dropped, and the only evidence of Law's injury was in the clothes he wore, the red slathered on his skin (and it was slathered well and good), and the blood-soaked newspaper he sat on, his chin fell to his chest, and he was out cold.

Smoker told her to leave Law to him. There was a lot of information he could extract from a warlord in this condition. Warlord, my fucking arse. Just look at him.

"What about cleaning him?"

"I'll take care of it. He's weak now. Won't be a threat."

"Doflamingo?"

"Check if his contingent's gone back to Dressrosa. Him along with it, of course."

And so it and he had.

She left him, and Smoker knew Law couldn't walk around the military town in his bloodied clothes and definitely not with his skin painted red. Oh, he could let him, but it would raise more questions than it was worth. The incisions had disappeared under Law's power, but he hadn't had the chance to clear away the gore that coated his skin. Smoker sighed.

After some effort, due to angle, not lack of strength, he slung Law over his shoulder and took him to the bathroom. Surprisingly gentle as he lowered him onto the tiles, he made sure the wall supported his back. He pulled Law's boots off. He'd been too weak to remove them at the entrance of his house. They were full of blood and his socks encrusted with the same. His clothes were all in one piece. Was he naked or something when he'd encountered that freak? Worry gripped at him and quickly morphed to anger. Reckless fool. He didn't want to care for Law.

After he'd removed everything, he threw what he could into the washing machine. He was sure that hat needed some kind of special care, but what was he, some housework guru? Fuck that. The hat would get the same treatment as the rest of the clothes. If it turned pink, so be it.

He selected the cycle and poured an ungodly amount of powder into the machine, and slammed the lid. Why the fuck was he doing this? He should just wrap the prick in chains and leave him at the mercy of either Doflamingo or Akainu.

His shirt, his coat, his jeans, were not even ripped. Not a single scratch. It wouldn't surprise him if Doflamingo had used his powers to remove the Heart renegade's clothes, or to make him do it, but the question remained, why? Or was Law the type to sleep around? He was far from virtuous, and they were not a thing, so why not? The kid obviously had a liking for older men.

As disgusted as he was by the only just-dried-goo caked all over Law, and as much as it hid almost everything from view, Smoker still dropped a towel over his nether regions. He laughed at himself. As if a pirate had any idea about modesty, but the marine felt better with him covered. He filled up the tub nearby with warm soapy water, took a flannel, and washed the boy down. That's what he was, right? The youngest shichibukai after delivering a hundred beating pirate hearts. Look at him now. Fierce warrior. Smoker snorted. Though he had to admit that sometimes Law had such a coldness to him that he seemed like a man of one hundred.

The doctor had healed himself, but Smoker was still careful as he worked. He remembered the bleeding under the hat. He kneeled in front of the other man and pulled his sleeping head down, resting Law's shoulder against his own, the cloth running pink as he wiped strands of hair. He dabbed at the scalp, cleaning away the blood, then ran the flannel along the black strands once more. He plunged it into the water every now and then. The tub water slowly growing red. He tousled Law's hair and dabbed at his face with a dry towel as rivulets trickled down his skin.

The cleaning cloth itself eventually coloured pink. Smoker exhaled. He wrung it out, put it aside for laundry, stood up and fetched a new one from under the sink. He pulled the plug, drained the water, filled it again, testing that it was not too hot for him nor Law.

He bit hard onto his cigars, before taking them out and rolling them lightly in the ashtray nearby to ash them before jamming them back in his mouth. He scrubbed Law's face as if he were a three-year-old. Captain? Captain of the Heart pirates? Look at him now, or when he was under him in bed. Wet-behind-the-ears. A kid. He grumbled and twisted his head in his sleep.

Smoker let up a bit. What was he doing? Law certainly knew what to do in bed, well beyond his years. What was that about?

He went easier as he washed down the tattooed, toned chest he'd torn at in the past, tipping Law forward to follow along the vertebrae snaking up his back. He drew the cloth along the pirate's arms, including his hands, wiping those ludicrous fingers with their tattooed threat – a threat that obviously didn't do anything to protect him against Doflamingo.

He dipped the cloth between the digits to clean the skin there too. He paused for a second and kissed the tips of Law's fingers before he could think too deeply about his actions, but having to remove his cigars to do so. He shook his head, and dropped Law's hand.

Smoker brushed over Law's genitals and backside. Let Law deal with that later. What was he? Some glorified babysitter? He didn't feel like mollycoddling someone who rightfully should have been shackled in seastone in the deepest levels of Impel Down. But if he was honest with himself, he also didn't feel comfortable touching the so-called captain there while he was sleeping. Or was he knocked out? Probably a mix of the two. When Law sneaked in he'd spend an hour or two with him, and sometimes slept for a brief while, but was almost instantly awake if Smoker so much as exhaled. He barely reacted now.

After the commodore had sponged him down, he picked up the towel he'd used on Law's hair and dried him. Goose pimples spotted his skin again. Pulling out one of his own t-shirts and a pair of his boxers from a hamper, he dressed the defeated man. What a pain he was. He didn't want a naked pirate in his house unless something carnal was going on, though his eyes had dropped to Law's limber form more often than he wanted to admit.

He considered leaving the shichibukai there on the bathroom floor like the government dog he was, pushed back against the wall in the too big marine-issued commission, but he liked having Law beside him for the few brief times he stayed, and he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't go into shock if left on the cold tiles.

Was there a need to be gentle now? Law hadn't done anything against him, but he was a pirate and Smoker wore justice on his back. He'd managed to piss off the World Government on more than one occasion, and trustworthy wasn't a description associated with his name.

He managed to lift him and wasn't going to risk any injury picking him up. He'd done enough of that for the night. Holding him under his arms, bare feet drawing across the floor, he dragged him into the main room and threw him on the bed. Those lanky legs fell to the side, so he righted them. At least he wouldn't stain the sheets with his blood now, only with his presence.

He'd turned down the covers earlier, and pulled them over Law's lean form now. His breath was even. Smoker wanted to lift his lips and see that the damage had been reversed. Maybe he'd get a chance later. Jesus, how could Doflamingo even imagine doing something like that? Then again, quiet as he was now, at times Law didn't know when to zip it.

Smoker needed a wash himself, and his own clothes needed some attention to make sure the secondary blood stains didn't set. He peeled everything off. Threw Law's items into the dryer, put on his own wash, and stepped into the shower.

* * *

 **Thank you** for reading.

Law and Smoker's relationship is the feature of chapter 3, chapter 21 and chapter 26 of _Repossession_. That fic is not a T rating. Please read the warnings before you read.


	3. Chapter 3 - Tetrices - Tashigi, Marco

**Chapter 3 - Tectrices**

* * *

"The baby seems healthy."

"Seems?"

"To the best of my knowledge."

"And you're pretty knowledgeable, right, when it comes to medicine?" Tashigi pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, red nails bright against the cream of her dress.

"What do all those files you folk keep on me say?"

Tashigi took a sip of her soda. There hadn't been much she could eat at the banquet, and boy was she tired. They'd have to have another feast once the baby was born, or more than likely, a couple of years after.

"Captain of the Heart pirates. Ex-shichibukai. Surgeon of Death."

Law grinned lazily. "In the dark and dim old days, eh?"

"Your epithet doesn't strike confidence into my heart."

Law shrugged.

"More likely that you'd extract it."

Law shrugged again. "I gave it back," he grumbled.

"That's not the point." Tashigi tapped her fingernails against the white tablecloth.

"You gave up being a captain?" she asked when she saw she'd get no further enlightenment on Law's bizarre surgical techniques.

"I don't know that you can ever give up."

Law sat in Smoker's seat, opposite Tashigi, at the bridal table, his long black-clad legs stretched out. He'd forgone his hat for the wedding, and had managed to tame his hair a bit after Marco had mussed it up. His earrings were standard Law-issue. No special patterns like he'd worn for Bepo's nuptials. He'd given those to Mina, Bepo's bride, as a gift – after he'd cleaned them up, of course.

Law hadn't lost the rings, hadn't forgotten to bring them, and he'd got Smoker so riled up the marine had forgotten to be nervous. In his estimation, a job well done.

He wore his island sandals, but they were the ones he wore to his practice, not the lounging around the bar pair. He liked to show off the ink on the bridges of his feet. All that black against cream, he contrasted well against Tashigi.

She had been surprised at the precision of Law's touch, but also by the reassurance in it. She'd eyed his slender wrists, followed the tattooed fingers as he described the processes her body would go through, that she would go through, that her baby would go through. He'd been discreet. It was a wedding after all. Her wedding, but marine doctors were perfunctory at most, and Law was good. The files damned him with light praise. She knew she had to take advantage while she could.

"He's still cut down to one cigar?"

"For quite a few years."

"See if you can get him to stop and it will benefit you and the baby."

Tashigi nodded. She doubted Smoker would willingly follow any of Law's edicts, but if it was for the good of the baby, he might.

She took her glasses off to clean. She hadn't wanted to wear them, but God knows who she would have ended up wed to if she hadn't. Placing them back on her face, she eyed Law's nodachi casually resting by the side of his chair.

"How's Kikoku?"

Law cocked a brow. Over the years they'd had a few kenjustsu sword conversations about method, technique and occasionally the art thereof, but her attention was mostly centered on Zoro in that regard. He'd spent more of his fugitive life avoiding Smoker's jutte than Tashigi's blade.

"Fine. Shigure?"

"Does the trick."

"Captured any more meito recently?"

"Liberated," Tashigi corrected. "Less call for it nowadays."

"Tracked some down for your collection?"

Her face was suddenly animated in a way it wasn't when talking about the baby. At those points it had been all quick glances and insecurity.

"Smoker and I are opening a museum."

"Is that where they belong?" Tashigi was opening a museum, Law thought to himself. What did Smoker know about swords? Except that they'd cut if they got too close.

"Better than them falling into the wrong hands."

Law pulled Kikoku close as if the sword were a child easily hurt.

"Don't worry, she's not ranked."

"And she is in the right hands," Law said, a slight menace to his voice.

Tashigi felt a strange buzz resonate from the sword across from her. Law noted the look of puzzlement.

"She's cursed." Rage sung through the sword. Hell hath no fury . . .

"Are you sure she's not crying because she's been put to criminal use?"

Law eyed her slowly before answering. Tashigi had released him from shackles more often than imprisoned him. He liked her, but they had their differences.

"Like deflecting marine bullets or fighting Doflamingo? I don't see the crime in that."

Tashigi coloured a little. A pirate was a pirate, but her now husband had taken a pretty keen interest in this one, and Law _had_ helped them escape Punk Hazard. Had helped her men escape. The World Government had been responsible for a great many atrocities. Not all of them though. Pirates were far from innocent.

Even so, her gaze kept landing on the nodachi.

Law smiled the smile that had slaughtered a thousand sheep. Was Kikoku bewitching her? She looked too interested.

"Yes, you can touch her, but I'm not responsible for anything you feel."

She edged closer, eager, wrist hovering over the scabbard, wanting to play with the tassels of the red thread Law wound around Kikoku's sheath, wanting to pet the white fur that trimmed the hilt. But mostly she wanted to attune with the blade and hear its story.

"Wait." Law touched Tashigi's wrist. A child shouldn't have to suffer for its mother's curiosity.

The marine still wasn't used to an outlaw approaching her that way. Even if he had just gauged the stages of her pregnancy, and she had held his own wrists in similar ways during various forms of official confinement. But the power dynamics were different. She'd been all business.

"Wait until she's born. I don't know what kind of energy Kikoku might wield on an unborn."

Tashigi sat back in her seat. He had a point. If Kikoku was upset with Law, the sword would easily betray him. In fact, it was almost written into lore. She wasn't sure how cursed swords interacted with those who were not their ill-fated owners, even though Law and Zoro were both very comfortable with their blades.

"She didn't finish you off before, you'll probably be safe later, and if not, you'll be the only one in danger."

Tashigi winced with the memory.

"It seems to me that you were the one brandishing the blade, not the demon trapped within, that day. We'll battle fairly, without your devil fruit some day."

He'd apologised to Tashigi for his words in the past. Tashigi was kind of pleased that Smoker had stopped Law from finishing her off after he bisected her on Punk Hazard. Law had been going to fulfil her noisy demands to let her die honourably after she had lost against him.

"Not now, though," Law said. Tashigi was proficient at swordplay without any devil's fruit. Law and she hadn't fought in a situation where he _hadn't_ been using his powers, luckily for her.

He wondered how she felt about Zoro's swords now that he was near to winning the title of best swordsman, though Law wasn't sure that he'd ever defeat Milhawk, even if they both lived well into their hundreds. He wondered if she still wanted to "liberate" the katana so they were used for what she viewed as noble purposes, and wondered if that purpose was to remain behind glass in a lovingly tended museum.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Tashigi and Smoker had found their way was stronger than all others, and they wanted to make it official. Or maybe it just was that the mound under the layers of cloth and rough textured lace of Tashigi's wedding dress was more than a little gentle. Along with Luffy, she was the only one not drinking alcohol.

Marco glanced at Law at the wedding trestle with her, now that the eating had wound down, and the drinking and dancing was in full swing. His lanky lover was resting his head on a curled up fist, his elbow resting on the table, the soft cloth of his tunic slipping down to reveal his forearm ink, the indentations near his wrist, the silver bangle he sometimes wore, and the black design on the back of his hand. They were probably chewing the medical fat, though you'd never know it, looking at Law.

He drew his attention back to Smoker, still puffing away despite his partner's condition. The Phoenix knew Law would have words to say later. There was a chill in the air sitting outside, but it was nice to be away from the revelry inside.

Luffy and Zoro were there of course, and Luffy danced with Nami and Usopp, rather than his stoic boyfriend. The lava beads Zoro had brought back from their successful hunting down of Akainu moved from side to side as he pogoed all over the place. Usopp and Nami ricocheting away from him, before closing in again.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The man had been old but they'd still had to disable him with seastone when he, Zoro, Garp and Sengoku descended upon the volcanic island he'd been exiled to. Benn and Shanks too. And the goat. The expedition carried Ace's name – was done in his memory – and the reason Luffy hadn't joined them was his own fear of not being able to extract the ultimate retribution. Of being too compassionate. Marco represented Whitebeard too, as well as his fiery ex. Ex through circumstance, not design.

While the victorious crew drank loudly, celebrating the demise of the magma man, Sengoku stood to the side, chatting to the goat, which had played a major part. Knowing Akainu's weakness for animals, they'd dusted its coat in seastone, and sent it in before them. The craggy peaks that surrounded his isolated home were full of mountain goats, so the random appearance of one wasn't so unusual. The non-fruit users washed her down after the battle. Marco wandered over to join the former fleet admiral, his sandals crunching through the loose slippery rocks.

"He had some good points, you know," the old man said, as fatuous and venerable as ever as he gazed over the ranges stretching on and on. He spoke without physically acknowledging Marco's arrival or presence. "But lost his way." He chewed on his favoured rice crackers. They had the bite of wasabi. He offered the bag to Marco, still not making eye-contact. Marco declined, and the old man shrugged. "I'm glad you all avenged Ace."

Marco guessed there was something redeemable in everyone, but he couldn't forgive Akainu, even in death.

"But that isn't why you're here," the Phoenix said, scratching at the tattoo on his front. Despite being weakened by kairoseki, and the extra chains they'd thrown on Akainu, the ex-admiral's sparks had still landed on his skin. Marco healed himself quickly.

"No. You neither," Sengoku said.

"Not entirely."

The goat chewed at a patch of grass complacently, its yellow eyes dashing to the side to weigh up whether Marco was worth eating, or had anything worth eating.

"What he did to Roci's boy . . . ."

Marco kicked at the soil. Law hadn't come with them. Luffy and Law had the most compelling reasons for seeking Akainu's demise, but Law had washed his hands off his tormentors long ago.

"I couldn't let it go. Roci died to give him a chance, he was that invested, Died for his freedom."

Sengoku ratted around the bottom of the packet that had been holding his crackers. His face lit up as he discovered the last two or three, and ate them with pleasure.

" . . . and Sakazuki did everything he could to take it away."

Marco lifted his eyebrows in unseen agreement with the old man.

"The Strawhats and his own crew say he was never the same after that captivity. It didn't stop his fighting ability." Marco had fought side by side with Law on many an occasion. "But there were certain opponents he refused to face again."

Four to be exact. He'd raze platoons of marines in seeking his own form of retribution, even though he knew someone like Cora might be among them, but he blanched at the thought of ever being in the same room with those demons.

"I wouldn't know much of what effect it had on him, but what you say doesn't surprise me. Doflamingo and Vergo had a lot to answer for as well."

"It broke him. All of it. I mean, they can't compare with what the World Government did to his family – as in, that's when he probably first snapped – but each assault created a different kind of fissure that just kept compounding any historical injury."

"Or found his resolve,"

Sengoku ran his tongue over his teeth, dislodging mushed-up crumbs.

"Maybe they helped him find that. He's always been a smart kid. He might choose not to fight them, but he only backed down when it was advantageous for him to do so, so he could fight another day."

"Sure as hell wasn't their aim to help him find anything." He backed down so he could survive.

"No."

It hadn't been their aim, the government's aim. Pirates, even the ones they'd made – and they were responsible for a lot of people choosing to be so – were eliminated.

"I think it was a case of survival, but I also think . . . is it Roci? . . . Law calls him Cora . . . I think it was Cora-san's sacrifice that really gave him his mettle," Marco said.

Sengoku glanced over at the utterance of the personalisation used by the younger Law of the name given by Domflamingo to the holder of the heart seat. He worked his jaw, thinking of the danger Roci had been in, and the other Corazon, who had betrayed his men, and somehow escaped Punk Hazard, even after Law and Smoker had laid him low.

Law and he had talked across the years, and his stomach grew tight thinking of the marine the World Government had trusted – the Don Quixote pirates' first Corazon – who Sengoku had sent to supervise G5 just six months before Doflamingo murdered his brother. The thought of Vergo, especially sent to Swallow Island to help with the anticipated showdown with Doflamingo's crew, slamming a haki-laden fist into a fatally wounded Rocinante on nearby Minion Island, caused his spine to caterpillar.

Why was he even on that island? Because of Law. He couldn't hold Rocinante's foolish kindness against the surgeon, but he also couldn't bring himself to use the name _Cora-san_ , though he allowed Law his childhood fondness and memory. As if he could put a stop to that.

"Or his moral code. Maybe Rocinante, marine 01746, gave Law his moral code."

"As an individual."

"And part of being an individual was being a marine."

Marco sighed and nodded. No point in getting into an argument with Sengoku, and both he and Law had lived long enough to know one encountered many shades of grey while negotiating the world. Law _had_ gained his own more compassionate sense of justice after Roci's death, or maybe during the six months he'd been with him, visiting hospital after hospital, camping out, overhearing the man's true feelings. Compassionate justice, despite rumours of his sadism and barbarity. Just ask Jean Bart about that, Marco thought. Or Kinnemon. The verdict was hung.

He'd told him of his original intention to level the world to a pile of rubble, as Flevance had been. He told him of entering the Don Quixote mansion wearing a garland of grenades, believing his limited lifespan made him impervious to optimism or any kind of connection with others.

The goat wandered over to Marco and started nibbling on his cut-offs. The pirate absently patted its head.

"It's true, he provoked strong motherfuckers, and knew there'd be fallout, But, there's only so much anyone can humanly withstand, and Law crossed that threshold long ago. It's amazing he can string a sentence together, and yet he's pretty good at those.

"There were four people he never wanted to see again, and Akainu was one of them."

He did see them, of course, but on each occasion, no physical harm came to him. The people around him saw to it. Psychological damage was another matter.

"So we have similar purposes."

"We share one the same."

Sengoku finally looked at the pirate next to him, Whitebeard's righthand man, wondering why one would choose such a life. Then again, the World Government had been draconian. He still didn't understand Roci's decision, but maybe he would have done the same for Roci.

"That pirate is quiet, y'know – but tremors swallow the earth whole, bring buildings down." He shook the empty bag of crackers out. The goat looked hopefully toward the crumbs.

"Sounds about right." Law whittled away at the foundations of a structure to make sure it couldn't be rebuilt, that's when he didn't slice it clearly in two.

Shanks wandered up and clamped a hand on Marco's shoulder. "Where is that lazy sonofabitch? Making us do all his dirty work?"

Marco and the retired admiral turned to him.

"Ah, it's not his day," Marco shrugged, his face blank. They'd come for Ace's sake.

Zoro walked over too. Benn sat down next to the goat.

"Someone has to take care of Luffy while we're away," the swordsman said. Benn had diverted him from taking a path leading down the mountain, instead of the track over to the team.

"Hmm, guess so." Shanks scratched the back of his head and then lightly touched Marco's upper arm. The Phoenix knew the touch was for Law. As much as he'd attacked Akainu for having brought Luffy to death's door, he'd fought for the surgeon's peace of mind as well.

Shanks had been the one to take Ace's body from Marineford, and had stood beside Marco to pay his respects, on the island where Ace's grave sat next to Pops'. So his sense of connection to the two was not a shallow thing. But he also knew Law. Well.

"Time to drink!" Garp barrelled over, almost slipping on the rocks below his feet. Zoro collected some of the basalt to make a chain for Luffy.

Time to drink more, Marco thought.

"I'll join you soon."

The Whitebeard pirate crossed to a boulder not smoking from the rivulets of lava that riddled the land underfoot, and sat. It was done. It was over. Crimes were avenged. He picked up some basalt too, chose two rounded pieces, and ran them together in the palm of his hand. Smoke rose from the land, especially evident along the plateaus below. He hoped the town at the foot of the mountain had some baths.

He sighed. Vengeance didn't bring Ace back, and it didn't erase Law's memories, but at least there was one less living nightmare in the world, one more reason to feel safer.

Marco sealed the small rock in the letter he sent to his partner by Daily Coo, telling him Akainu was gone. The other he kept in his pocket. It now sat alongside the lapis lazuli grounding stone he'd claimed as his own during the year of trouble.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The Heart captain had kept that letter within reach, tucked into his pocket, while Marco and their friends were away, knowing from Luffy's relieved excitement, and his exclamations over how cool, and how just like Ace's – except a different colour – the beads that Zoro had sent were, to know just how important the mission was to Strawhat. Zoro was right. He did have Pirate King Luffy babysitting duties.

That night, remaining true to their current partners, the Strawhat and Heart captains shared a bed like they used to. Law's nightmares, and his own attempts to stay lucid or to rearrange his bad dreams into something he governed rather than the other way around, meant that he had never fully blocked out the events of the marine captivity.

Akainu being so doggedly on his tail for so many years before the change of power, at least in very vocal and spoken intention, hadn't helped either; those never-ending fucked-up marine bulletins describing the fugitive's past life as Doflamingo's slave.

Sitting against the headboard, he rested in bed. Luffy had pushed himself into Law's chest and was snoring away. He'd later wear the beads Zoro had sent him around his neck like Ace, but had wrapped them around his wrist now, and fallen asleep counting them like a rosary, or a child mesmerised by round, shiny things.

Law knew Luffy wished his older brother had been able to see his successes, and he was glad that Sabo was there for him. Law knew the younger man felt agonising guilt over his inability to save Ace. Despite superhuman efforts.

Law could blame his own failures in the past on his age. Luffy hadn't been that old either, but he hadn't been dying and he knew many of the strengths of his devil's fruit. Law's had been so newly acquired that neither he nor Cora knew how to harness it.

Having been so close to saving his brother must slice him to ribbons. Law knew that if as a thirteen-year-old, he'd had even a sliver of knowledge about his devil's fruit, Cora would be alive and kicking, and Doflamingo would never have recaptured him. But Akainu was not Doflamingo.

When Luffy finally slackened into loose muscle and deep slumber, rolling away from Law to snuggle with a pillow – Misery looking on with far too much approval at the intruder in the bed (she loved Luffy) – Law stepped away from the mattress.

In the study adjacent to the bedroom, he opened a box, a simple black lacquer design, separate from the deep rosewood cases that contained his coin collection, or the tansu that housed the extra commemorative tea-towels. He placed the lava stone alongside the spoon Marco had brought back, pulled from Vergo's face, and Doflamingo's earrings, unlatched from his lobes.

Marco hadn't wiped out the two Don Quixote pirates, but he'd been able to gather a few souvenirs after their demise. Holding them had given Law a sense of peace he hadn't felt for far too many years. Kizaru's beating heart would join the accoutrements of defeat in the near future. To the victor goes the spoils.

He'd had to clean the spoon and earrings of course, otherwise the spoils really would have been spoiled, in the case of the Vergo-souvenir. What was it on the spoon? Dried egg yolk? That man, despite being an immaculate dresser, could not keep his face free of his latest meal, no matter how hard he tried. Law figured he didn't try that hard. Too busy thinking about who he could next enjoy brutalising at Doflamingo's bidding.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Marco turned the stone now. The one he'd picked up to remember Ace.

"If Ace were here," Smoker bit down on his cigar, noting the similarity between the still exuberant older Luffy and his now permanently younger, yet older, brother, _despite_ no blood connection, "He'd approve of it all. Look at Tashigi and Law up there. I don't regret my time with him, though it would have been better if we'd both known what we know now.

"Same with Ace. I know he joined up with you, and what we had, as with everything in Ace's life, was breathtaking but, appropriately, burned too fast. Law and Ace found a happiness with you that I couldn't give them. We didn't _want_ to give it to each other, the world being what it was. But times are different, and Tashigi gives me the stability I need, and Zoro is Luffy's rock."

The empties piled up in front of Marco and Smoker, though Smoker had been pacing himself more.

The Whitebeard and marine had intersected across the years, mostly because Smoker remained an important part of Law's life. Was now the right time for a heart-to-heart? If their conversations lingered on relationships at all, it was usually Smoker demanding and checking that Law was treated with respect. Ah well, since they were in a sharing-caring mood.

"Luffy worked wonders with Law, and as selfish as it sounds, I'm glad they split up. Law was what I needed when I started out again, and that took some time. I've always honoured Ace, y'know."

"I know. Your man does a pretty good job too."

And he did. He always had. Marco glanced at the table again. A decorative bouquet of white roses was almost indistinguishable against the tablecloth. He turned to Smoker.

"Isn't it time to dance with your bride?"

"The smell of cigars makes her sick at the moment."

"It's your wedding night. Couldn't you have stopped for a day?"

"And killed or tried to arrest every pirate I came across? Even if they all seem to be working side by side with the better elements of us all now?"

Marco tipped his head. Smoker had a point, but Tashigi was obviously pregnant. Smoker grimaced.

"You're right. I'll freshen up, and see her."

He didn't want Law to charm her too much. He eased himself out of his chair. A bottle on the table tipped over. Marco righted it. He stood too, knowing he stank of cigars as well. He ran a quick flame over his body, hoping to fight the after-effects of fire with fire. It seemed to work.

Smoker wandered to the bathrooms, and Marco crossed the floor. He wanted to see Law on this romantic night, though he knew Law didn't buy into that stuff too much. Neither of them did, but it didn't mean they were incapable of small touches that carried greater weight.

It looked as if Tashigi and his lover were talking about swords from the hand gestures. From the corner of his eye, Law saw Marco approach, and Marco inclined his head towards the gardens surrounding the hall.

"Sorry Tashigi," Law leaned across, and lightly touched her on the arm again, "Contact me if you have any questions about the baby." Zoro passed in front of Marco, and Law swapped himself with the swordsman, who landed in his vacated seat with a clanking of swords. Zoro probably thought he'd just wandered the wrong direction again, though he was aware of Law's powers. Tashigi eyed the katana hungrily. Law hoped Kikoku was in good hands. Tashigi didn't covet unranked swords, as far as he knew.

It wasn't that Marco called and Law came running, but at social events, there was probably a deeper reason why he'd seek him out. They tended to join up at intervals before separating again.

.

.

Law landed gracefully in front of the Phoenix. Black hair rising slightly with the motion, before settling down.

"What's up?"

"Wanted to see you."

The two men matched each other's pace in the way of those who know each other well, and crossed the floor to the exit.

"You see me all the time."

Law hoped it wasn't too chilly outside. He hadn't brought a jacket.

"You have too many exes, Law."

"Are they hassling you again?"

Marco shook his head. "I'm glad they're there for you." And my ex overshadows your every move, he thought.

They strode into the night air, along the garden paths leading to a bench near a rose trellis. Surely Tashigi chose the location, though it would have depended upon whether she had worn her glasses or not. Smoker could be strangely sentimental at times. The two men stood opposite one another. Law tried to read Marco's eyes.

"You're not messing my hair. It's not the right time. I'm not in the mood."

Marco moved closer.

"Just want to feel your shirt."

Ah. Marco dipped his head into Law's shoulder, Law feeling his scratchy cheeks. By this time of night, his were the same. He wondered what memories were crowding the Phoenix at the moment. He pulled him a little closer. He seemed a little out of sorts. This wasn't usual.

Though the reasons for Law adopting the Nehru shirts were not the greatest, and thankfully he now mixed up wearing them along with outfits that showed plenty of his tattoos, they were free-flowing and enticing to Marco, especially with Law's embellishments.

Law looked across. His lover's eyes were closed. Law raised a hand to hold the back of his head, and worked his fingers through his hair. What had upset him? What had Smoker said? One of Marco's hands, palm flat, rested along the seam directly under Law's upper arm. Marco tallied the feathers in blue. One, Two, Three, Four, Five. His lips murmured the numbers. Why did it give him so much reassurance?

Marco slid his hand down Law's side and, as before ran his forefinger and thumb along the hem of the shirt. Like a child studiously counting every crack avoided on a path, he paused whenever he felt the familiar areas where the cloth was raised, as was his habit.

His inventory, his litany, of Law's needlepoint. There they were, the coloured-in cross – a symbol of the symbols on the back of his hands. The amoeba sun-like figure from his forearms, and Cora's Jolly Roger. No cancellation allowed. The swirls and curls and, this was new . . . he had only vaguely felt them this morning, Law pulling away and anxious to get to the wedding. His finger tattoos were sewn in, with the D louder than the others. He kissed the side of Law's neck in curiosity.

He quickly ran his fingers along the length of the hem wondering how many new designs there were. Would he find Luffy's straw hat? Penguin's namesake? A smoking cigar? Could he talk Law into including the twin faces of tragedy and comedy?

He returned to the first one, Law seemingly passive under his exploration, though the strength of his arms told him otherwise. He'd explored this shirt so often by touch alone that he had some skill in discerning shape that way. Next to the 'H' was the curve of his mythical form. And next to that, and next to that, and after that. A row of phoenixes. That choked clicking sound hadn't just escaped his throat.

"New?"

He felt Law nod against him. He knew his partner was puzzled, but there were many things the younger man could feel, and many things he knew. Marco had not unfurled his other hand, but Law did so now, and found both the lapis lazuli, and the basalt he'd brought back from Akainu's grave. He curled the fingers over the stones again, and sighed across Marco's hair.

"I'm sorry about Ace," Law said, his arms hooked now around Marco's upper back, and drawing him seriously close. Marco just nodded against him, unable to speak. Was it fucked up that he sought out Law to relieve his pain at losing a past lover?

He felt Law whispering into his hair. Who knew what he was saying. Hold on, he'd heard him reassure Luffy in the same way in the chasms of his sorrow. He reassured Law the same way when he crawled out of the most distressing of dreams. Marco raised the hand without the stones to his cheek. Damn, they were a little wet. Was that why Law was whispering?

He lit a fire to move himself away, but Law formed a room around them, and dumped water from the pond over them both. He held him still. Marco slit his eyes and saw flames flickering across the water like a flambe, could feel Law's heart beating against his own body.

"You want me to let go?"

Marco shook his head.

"I'm wet too now, you know."

"Motherfucker, I'm soaked."

Law gave a quiet laugh, stepped back and wiped his assured doctor's hands and fingers along Marco's cheeks and tipped his face.

"I know. You can dry. You can dry me too."

"Why do you sew them, Law?" Marco had pocketed the stones, and now stood in front of Law, almost like a school boy shamed. His fingers held the hem on either side, and his head tipped against Law's chest. His shoes seemed to hold his fascination, or the chest below him, rising and falling, regular and soothing. The very real life emanating from another person. His person.

Law stepped back, a hint of incredulity. Marco stumbled a bit, and had to look up, but Law still had him.

"Don't make me explain myself, Marco."

Law knew if Firefist were there, he'd dance with Luffy, steal and eat all the food, rile up Smoker, have some brotherly bonding with Law, perhaps. He seemed a pretty easygoing kind of guy.

And he'd go home with the Phoenix.

But conjecture and jealousy over a dead person was a treacherous slope, and he'd already spent too much time living his life trying to fulfil what he thought were the wishes of a loved one, had spent too much time questioning Cora's love. He didn't regret his actions. He'd brought about change. But he wished he'd accepted Cora's affection for what it was a whole lot sooner. He'd fundamentally never doubted it, but the mind was a curious animal.

However, his actions and single-mindedness had also heaped misery on his own head. So much that even though he knew he had a life he was happy with now, he didn't know if he'd ever recover from the wounds he'd endured. He didn't deserve all of those wounds, but he had them, nonetheless. He kept going, with and through the pain, and there was so much less of it nowadays. So much more to be glad about for all of them.

"Marco?"

His scruffy, stylish, laidback, lethal blond looked up at him. His eyes, sleepy as always, wearing a hint of trouble he hadn't seen in many years. He wondered how much he'd had to drink. Weddings were hard. They were always hard. Except for maybe Bepo's. The Minks really knew how to party.

"Ace cared for you, and he would've wanted you to be happy, and if you have that, happiness, you are being respectful."

 _If I have that?_ Marco thought.

"Law."

"Mmm." Was Marco still wet from the water, or was it something else?

"I love this shirt, kid."

Law nodded. "I kinda figured." Marco hadn't stopped holding its hem, as if it was something Law had accidentally pulled from Marco's own wardrobe.

And its wearer? Law wondered. How did his lover feel about that?

Marco sent a lick of fire over himself once more, sized up, and kissed and nibbled along the curve of Law's neck. He knew the Heart captain didn't fully understand him yet, tonight. He was like a mother cat, taking in all the nuzzling and imposition of her brood into her space. Waiting for the day they ventured out on their own. Willing to nip and growl if boundaries were breached.

The Phoenix wore many different colours, and Law was waiting on the shade. Marco loved him for it. He would not have the same patience for anyone else, and he would not have the patience if he didn't sense Marco's confusion.

"I couldn't be happier," he breathed into Law's ear.

Law closed his own eyes. Relief. Tashigi didn't seem to resent his past or connection with Smoker, and Zoro and he had sorted out his differences long ago. But how to combat or compete with a ghost?

Marco's hand snaked to the back of Law's head. He pulled Law's head down to his own. Law hoped he hadn't drunk too many coffees that day.

"Ace would approve of you, because of the peace of mind you've given me."

And Cora would be thrilled with you, Law thought.

"I'm glad, Charlie. I'd hate for us to have come this far for no reason."

Law and his stupid jazz puns, but no-one was called bird after Doflamingo had used it as a way of expressing his twisted feelings for Law. Little bird. His captured, seething, startled fledgling.

"Can't you just tell me you love me?"

"I do, all the time."

He placed Marco's hand on the larger phoenix figure again, and then guided it to the row of birds mixed into a damask repetition.

"Though this shirt gets packed away, there are others."

Embroidery was surface of course, and long-term actions were what counted most, but they both enjoyed Law's wardrobe.

"I'm here, Phoenix. I only want to be here."

"You do love me then."

"Don't force it. You know I say it."

"I know."

Law led them to the bench and he set up a room so Marco could warm them with fire without hurting him, at least for a period of time before Law grew tired, or they were called back to the reception. They sat close, and Marco kept an arm around Law. Law could feel him, again and again, returning to the blue feathers.

"We're the sum of all people, Phoenix, good and bad. And I benefit from the good in you that Ace brought about. I'm thankful. The pain you go through, I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and if we could bring Cora or Ace back, Whitebeard, my parents or my sister, I'm sure we'd sacrifice us, our relationship in a heartbeat, and we'd understand. But without being able to do that, we let ghosts rule our life if we get caught up on hypotheticals."

Marco could never be thankful for the monsters in Law's life, though he wouldn't be Law without the way they'd shaped and garrotted his psyche, and the way he'd rebelled against their definitions and expectations, and overcome them.

An inky flower in the blackest of nights, Law's nature was not easily discerned. He wouldn't scream like a mandrake if pulled from the soil. In fact, his centre burned brightly at times, a beacon, like the stigmata of many a dark flora.

He operated by stealth, not deceit. Affection stitched for those who knew where to find it, with a needle that could pierce an eyeball as easily as mend a heart.

"Will you sew a submarine?" Maro asked, feeling exhausted, and now resting his head on Law's shoulder. It was usually the other way around.

"Who's to say I haven't?" Law smiled.

Marco looked up, interested.

Law shrugged. "I try. There might be a paw print too."

"Where?"

"That's for me to know."

And Marco to find out.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading**. _Repossession_ chapter 3 refers to are particularly chapter 4 (read the warnings), part of 5, and generally the rest of the fic in terms of Akainu. That's a tough story to read, so read the warnings, as said. The story about hunting down Akainu, and the beads that Zoro sent Luffy feature briefly in the epilogue, as do mention of Smoker and Tashigi's wedding, and Sengoku's goat!

Tashigi commissioned the tea-towel for this event, so it was a lot classier than Law's general tea-towel taste. However, Tashigi has good taste in swords, but maybe questionable taste in other areas, so whether the dishcloth is considered the crown jewel of the collection (by others, not Law), or just one run-of-the-mill tawdry tea towel out of many is open for debate.

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That might be it for this series. I know Law and Marco are a very rare pair, and my work is mostly pretty canon divergent/au, and is probably difficult to read without knowledge of the long fic. Writing a rare pair gave me a chance to explore a few themes. I hope this small foray away from the mainstream was a break for the few looking for anything different. Thank you to those who stuck with the fics despite my inconsistency. Keep reading and writing on.

* * *

 **Note: Dec 8, 2018** : The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


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